


Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, Yours And Mine Are The Same

by ThatMerlinFangirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meeting, M/M, Romance, Soulmates, artist!Tom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9270746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatMerlinFangirl/pseuds/ThatMerlinFangirl
Summary: 'Important encounters are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little Tomarry that I wrote in about an hour.

It seems almost wrong that there is nothing remarkable about that day.

The sky is simply grey. The wind whistling it's usual mournful tune. The same heavy silence hangs over the bus like a stormcloud.

Tom sits alone with his head pressed against the window, the fresh canvases safely nestled in plastic on his lap that he already knows Dippet will be practically gushing over. He watches a single leaf dance down the road and then disappear from view.

A whine, a creak and the bus stops. The shelter roof that Tom eyes from his window is filthy and close to collapsing. 

The doors open, releasing the scent of rain about to fall. Only one person, a young man dragging a small rucksack along the ground, gets on. 

"You alright doll?" Stan Shunpike, the conductor, asks, leering slightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." The voice is quiet and weary and Tom can't help but feel that he knows it.

But it's only a feeling, a sliver of sunshine that blinks through the clouds and he loses interest, opting instead for a view of the rain that has begun to fall.

They trundle on in silence.

It's tipping buckets by the time Shunpike calls "Hogwarts Gallery!" and Tom stands up, legs half-asleep after sitting so long. He picks up his canvases and makes his way to the door, fumbling with his umbrella.

"Oof!"

Something solid crashes into him and he tumbles out onto the wet pavement, skidding painfully on his knees.

"Shit! Shit, I'm so sorry, are you alright? Is your stuff OK?"

There are hands examining him, probing him for injuries and Tom makes to brush them off, muttering that he's fine and just by chance he meets the young man's eyes and -

He's heard stories of course, about soulmates meeting and being all 'aflame with soaring flutters' (to quote one particularly bad romance novel by Gilderoy Lockhart) but he never thought it would happen to him, let alone feel like _this_.

Like fire - like ice - like stars crashing to earth and the moon colliding with the sun - he can't put it into words. He never could and he never wants to. It's too beautiful a feeling to be marred by such trivial things as words.

The young man's face is pinched and white and streaked with dirt, and there are shadows underneath his eyes that his Sellotaped glasses cannot hide. But they cannot hide the inexplicable joy that makes that beautiful green colour sparkle brightly, or the smile that crinkles his face as the rain drips down his fringe.

They share a smile, tentative and shining and full of wonder.

"Tom Riddle."

"Hello Tom Riddle. I'm Harry Potter."

And it's as if Tom's soul has woken up and kind of just gone 'Oh. There you are. I've been looking for you.'


End file.
